


Holy Smoke!

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cosplay, Crossdressing Kink, Deepthroating, Humor, M/M, Nurse Bandit, PWP, Poor Jäger, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 11:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: All Jäger wanted were some scissors. He never asked for this.Or: Banditgladlysuffers the consequences of a lost bet.





	Holy Smoke!

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Holy Smoke！](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334578) by [Yinyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yinyu/pseuds/Yinyu)



> Inspired by [this doodle](https://i.imgur.com/44E2R1J.jpg) as well as [this one](https://i.imgur.com/FOzWxYk.jpg). Credit goes to the wonderful [blitznbandit](https://blitznbandit.tumblr.com/)!!  
>  ~~So you see, it's clearly not my own fault.~~

“We’re gonna start any time soon, I need the scissors!”, Blitz demands, slight panic in his voice. He’s surrounded by a plethora of utensils that in its entirety would be banned in all schools: confetti cannons, firecrackers of various danger, joke candles that can’t be blown out and barbed wire. Jäger forgot what the wire is meant for and at this point he’s too afraid to ask. “And where the hell is Bandit?”

It’s Smoke’s birthday, which means the base is drowning in pure chaos. Rainbow rarely makes mistakes twice and collectively forgetting his birthday is one they will undoubtedly _not_ repeat. To most of them, their birthday is just any other day, they have other worries and so it matters not – unlike Smoke, who demonstrated quite pointedly the consequences of neglecting to congratulate him. Some of them still shudder to even _think_ about the fateful day last year and they only speak of it in hushed tones and remote hallways.

This year, they’re going all out and have organised the biggest surprise party they could, if by ‘surprise party’ one meant ‘an attempt to save themselves from unspeakable horror’.

“I’ll go look”, Jäger replies, “for both. The magic room probably has some scissors, right?” A hectic nod from Blitz, and he’s off. The ‘magic room’ has earned its name for its miraculous ability to procure whatever the person using it currently needs, so he’s confident to possibly find both missing objects inside. It’s a cramped room stuffed with everything that doesn’t have a dedicated place in the base, which is a _lot_ , namely some furniture, old files and maps, tools, electronic trash and even some kitsch Jäger would hesitate to call decorations. He’s certain to have seen a pair of scissors in one of the drawers of the massive mahogany desk that’s taking up most of the space and probably once looked regal, before someone (and he has a suspicion exactly who it was) carved a series of vulgar and disgustingly explicit sexual acts into its varnish.

There’s light shining through the ridiculously small, milky glass pane in the door that indicates the tiny supply room to once having been an office (though its occupant must’ve been not very well-liked) – it seems someone is already using it, and since the different teams have grouped up to work on their projects to please their mad king, it’s actually likely to be the man Jäger is looking for. Confidently, he bursts through the door, announcing his presence with: “Are there any -”

And then he stops in his tracks, the door half open, his mouth half open, his eyes _wide_ open because.

Because in front of him. There’s -

“Can’t you fucking knock?”, Bandit snarls at him, scowling fiercely and glaring. What would usually be an incredibly intimidating sight is weakened by the _state_ he’s in. The very first thing to notice is the white… dress he’s wearing, if that is the correct term – Jäger supposes it’s meant to be a nurse’s outfit, intended for Halloween and quite _clearly_ intended to be worn by women. It’s tight around the waist and gapes open further up, revealing the beginnings of Bandit’s tattoos and a light dusting of chest hairs. It’s also _decidedly_ too short. Jäger is immediately grateful it’s at least long enough to cover the… unsavoury bits, if barely.

But that’s where it actually gets _worse_ and the fact that this is possible is astonishing. Because what Bandit is wearing _below_ that are black fishnet stockings, flattering his long legs despite the leg hairs sticking out. And _even further down_ , his feet are shoved into deep red _pumps_ that look a size too small, similar to the rest of the outfit really and Jäger feels like he’s going to start hyperventilating any second now.

“What”, he starts and his voice dies with a small, pitiful sound while he’s staring at the absolute disaster of a human being in front of him. The longer he looks, the worse it gets – for some reason, Bandit seems to encounter no trouble despite the daringly high heels, there’s a lipstick dangling from his fingers and on the surface of the desk next to which he’s standing there are. Jäger almost chokes on nothing. There are fluffy red handcuffs. “I”, he says and then stops yet again because his mind is carefully blank, probably an emergency shutdown.

“Close the door, you moron”, Bandit demands irritatedly and so Jäger does, since who is he to disobey the lady of sin who’s quite obviously possessing his teammate’s body – only he ends up on the wrong side. Which is the inside of the magic room.

As if his limbs aren’t entirely sure they’re in the location they currently prefer to be in, Jäger’s hand refuses to let go of the door handle and he points at it with his other hand. “Do you – do you want me to… can I just leave and pretend this never happened? Is that an option?”

“Jesus Christ”, Bandit says and pinches the bridge of his nose, “It was a fucking bet. Okay? I haven’t spontaneously lost my mind, stop looking at me like I grew boobs or something.”

It’s troubling how much of a relief it is to hear this. Jäger takes a measured breath and forces himself to step away from the door. “I assume you lost the bet?”, he asks cautiously.

Bandit glares like he’s thinking about strangling Jäger with one of the stockings. “Yeah, I fucking lost – did you hit your head on the way here? Do you think I’m doing this for fun?”

“You _are_ pretty steady on those heels”, Jäger feels obliged to point out and dodges the lipstick thrown at him.

“This was meant for Smoke’s gleeful eyes only, but since you so rudely barged in like you fucking own the place, how do I look?” Bandit poses and does a little _twirl_ and isn’t this a sight for which Jäger will need mental bleach. He opens his mouth for an answer he’s going to regret no matter what – if it’s negative, Bandit will cause him physical pain, and if it’s positive, he’ll have to live with himself – and then Bandit bends down a little and with a sound that’ll be ingrained in Jäger’s memories for as long as he lives, the strained fabric tears. It reveals the skin of Bandit’s lower back as well as yet _another_ horror he can add to the list that keeps growing, consisting of three words: White. Lacy. Underwear.

“Oh my God”, Jäger says, though by now, he’s certain that _there is no God_.

“Fuck, did I rip my bottom?”

Couldn’t he have put it _any other way_? “Yes, it’s – the seam.”

Bandit’s brows furrow. “Can you sew?” A mute shake of the head. “Neither can I. Oh, there should be a stapler around here. Could you hold the seam closed? So that it doesn’t rip further?”

“Sure”, Jäger replies without thinking. He’s generally attempting to socialise more and become more likeable, so he’s picked up the habit of not declining whenever anyone asks him for a favour. Which is biting him in the arse right now. He realises that to accomplish the task he so foolishly agreed to, he needs to move around his fellow countryman and stand behind him, basically put his hands on his lace-clad backside and pull on his skimpy clothing while Bandit rummages around in the desk. There is _no way_ he’s going to do all that. Nuh uh. Not a chance in the world. It doesn’t matter how scary Bandit is (even in an outfit as ludicrous as this), he’s _not_ -

“I’ll fucking feed you your own intestines and roast your eyeballs if you don’t help, come _on_.”

While Jäger tries to hold the two sides of the uniform together, Bandit mutters curses and slams the drawers if they turn out not to contain what he’s looking for. He’s mutely staring down at the smooth skin and the pristine white knickers that don’t look like men’s underwear at all and wondering whether he should be worried about the sudden urge to hump the person bending down rather suggestively right in front of him. This is normal, right? All men would react this way when confronted with this sight. Like this, if he ignores the short hair – or even if he doesn’t, hell, loads of women look stunning with short hair – it’s almost as if it’s not _Bandit_ pretty much offering himself. He rests the heels of his hands on the top of Bandit’s arse (which isn’t even half bad and where is _that_ thought coming from) and tries not to think too hard about what it is he’s doing right now.

“Mother _fucker._ ” Bandit suddenly reaches for the very bottom drawers, meaning his arse sticks out even further, meaning it pushes _right_ against Jäger’s crotch, meaning he’s effectively trapped between a rock and a hard place with the rock being the shelf directly in his back and the hard place threatening to be his own cock, as always inappropriately rising to something it considers pleasant (which rarely coincides with what _Jäger_ thinks pleasant). So now he stands there, rigid, biting down on his lip so hard it hurts and thinking the unsexiest thoughts that come to mind: Thatcher in a bikini, Montagne eating his beloved blue mould cheese, Kapkan recounting horrific stories from previous hunts. Bandit’s cheeks fit perfectly around his awakening length and he keeps _pressing_ them against it, moving around and… It’s just too much.

When Bandit finally finds the stapler and Jäger can let go of his dress, he’s flustered and would like nothing more than for someone to hit him with the memory eraser from Men in Black and _great_ , now Bandit is looking at him suspiciously. “Before you ask, I’m _not_ going to staple your ass”, Jäger tells him and bravely fights the blush creeping onto his cheeks, “I really just need one thing and then I’m out of here. Good luck.” He’s seen a pair of scissors while desperately trying not to look too closely at the human catastrophe that is his teammate, so he reaches down to search the drawer in which he believes to find what he needs – for which he takes his eyes off Bandit.

There’s movement, something cool around his wrists and a final sounding _click_. He blinks at the fuzzy red now linking his arms together, unable to comprehend for a second. The blasted handcuffs. He stands up and turns to the other man who’s watching him like a hawk. “Why”, he says helplessly.

“If you tell _anyone_ about this, I will skin you”, Bandit answers and he doesn’t seem to be joking. Jäger didn’t think he was. “Are we clear? One word and you’re fucking toast.”

“I wasn’t going to”, he replies honestly because first of all, who would believe him? And second – he’d rather purge this entire train wreck from his brain than re-live it. “Blitz might start looking for me if I don’t get back soon, can you undo these? I really should go.”

Curiously, Bandit cocks his hip and examines him in his entirety, his eyes slowly wandering up and down Jäger’s body with an almost lecherous stare that leaves him extremely uncomfortable on top of still vaguely aroused. “I don’t know. They kinda suit you.”

“Bandit. _Please_. I will gladly forget about everything. Just -” He abruptly cuts off: there are voices coming from the corridor and he recognises them as belonging to Blitz and IQ, undoubtedly seeking the rest of their team. The two men exchange a glance through which they convey non-verbally that they’d rather be found dead than with fuzzy handcuffs or looking like a nurse from hell with a torn uniform. Frantically, they search the room for something to hide in or under and Jäger points out: “There’s a locker.”

Together, they scramble to open and empty it as quietly as possible, leaving only a few assorted goods as well as some hockey sticks inside(why do they even have those) before squeezing into the tiny space and shutting the door. Jäger is instantly filled with regret. His wrists being handcuffed, he holds them up at chest height, the chain taut so it doesn’t clink, only this means he’s basically groping Bandit’s chest, their entire bodies pressed against each other. Bandit somehow ended up between his legs, their lower halves forced together due to some odds and ends they haven’t had the time to throw out and there is _no way_ Bandit can’t _feel_ -

In the moment of calm before the storm, he notices Bandit’s head tilting down a notch and hears him murmur: “Do you have a fucking _boner_?” And that’s when the door flies open and Blitz and IQ burst in, chatting and laughing and Jäger realises belatedly that he could’ve stayed in the room, claimed he found the handcuffs somewhere and now can’t get them off again, deterred them from searching the room too closely. Then he wouldn’t be stuck basically _snuggling_ Bandit this tightly, breathing the same air, feeling the warm skin of his chest under his fingertips, having his almost naked legs between his. It’s certainly more preferable to be found wearing handcuffs than to be found like _this_.

There are hands on his hips. How did they get there. What are they doing. Jäger shifts a little and then thumbs are caressing his hipbones and there’s something _wet_ by his ear and by Satan’s hairy balls, it’s Bandit’s _tongue_. He’s messing with him, though to what end is unclear – Bandit obviously has the most to lose if they get discovered, it’s _him_ in the costume after all. Then again, it hardly matters when they’re squished together this closely: Jäger will be involved by association.

While Blitz and IQ are joking with each other only two metres away, oblivious of the drama unfolding inside the stuffy locker, Jäger desperately attempts to keep himself together, ignore the teasing and the touches only now it’s _teeth_ on the side of his neck and if he’s not mistaken, there’s a bulge forming mirroring his and he’s trapped. Trapped with the most dangerous kind of predator. He starts pawing at Bandit’s face, digging his fingers into his cheeks, pushing against his jaw and _refusing_ to acknowledge what’s going on further down because his dick didn’t get the memo about being scared instead of aroused and is enthusiastically greeting its counterpart by straining towards it.

After almost getting his eye poked out, Bandit apparently decides he’s had enough, only in a different way than what Jäger expected: He wraps his lips around two fingers. He just… sucks them into his velvety mouth. Caresses them with his tongue. Jäger’s mind _immediately_ makes the connection between this and _what if that was my cock in his mouth_ and he thinks of high heels and fishnets and lace and barely manages not to moan when Bandit rubs their erections together. The feeling is elating and dirty at the same time, he _shouldn’t_ get so turned on by this and yet he does, pleasure running through him every time Bandit moves. Right when bold hands start opening his trousers, the door to the magic room shuts and silence befalls them, indicating that Blitz found the scissors at last and, luckily, not _them_.

“They’re gone”, Jäger whispers and gets a simple ‘mhm’ in return. Bandit is still lapping at his fingers, so he shoves a third one in his mouth just to possibly shut him up pre-emptively and groans when they’re lightly grazed by teeth. At the same time, Bandit pushes down both his trousers and his shorts to allow Jäger’s length to spring free and come into contact with soft fabric stretching over Bandit’s own erection. Jäger is starting to sweat, the inside of the locker is unbearably hot and so is the body pressed against his. He decides to take a leap and asks, his heart pumping: “Do you think you could blow me before I head back?”

It happened before, once. Jäger consumed a large amount of liquid courage, Bandit was as nonchalant as always, they started the evening in a nearby pub and ended it in a side alley with Bandit kneeling in front of him and Jäger leaning against a coarse brick wall, half prepared for Bandit to just _bite_ in the middle of it or take him to the edge and leave him stranded, anything, though Bandit exceeded expectations and left him loose and satisfied, mind reeling and, for the following week, awkward around him. Neither of them spoke of the incident ever again and Jäger has written it off as an isolated occurrence. Now, however… he should have a serious talk with his subconscious.

Bandit kicks the door open and both light and less stale air flood the cramped space. He extricates himself from Jäger, nearly falls over his legs and, impressively, catches himself even on heels, turning back to his teammate who must look absolutely undignified – folded into the locker, handcuffed wrists pressed to his chest, only his erect cock exposed and staring back at Bandit, wide-eyed and intimidated. Though, to be fair, now they’re both dishevelled. “Sure. C’mere.”

Jäger gapes. _Sure_. Is that how easy it is? He climbs out of the confined space and allows Bandit to push him against the desk, wrap one hand around his shaft and stroke him slowly. Something is slightly off, _has_ to be, Bandit is being too obliging, easily agreed to the blow job as if it was nothing. He’s not even complaining. They’re not even _drunk_. But before he can raise an objection, Bandit smirks and asks: “You want me to put the lipstick on first?” And Jäger freezes because he’s picturing it now, the whole gaudy outfit and Bandit on his knees with bright lips, Jäger painting his face and _why did he even have to make that suggestion_. “Oh my fucking God, you do, don’t you?”

“I don’t -” He’s interrupted by a particularly vicious upstroke that hits all the right spots and makes him moan. He’s still got the handcuffs on and Bandit doesn’t seem inclined to remove them, quite the opposite. He also looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely. Jäger feels not quite in control of the whole situation anymore, so he allows Bandit to move him around, undress his lower half completely, sit him on the massive desk for some reason. Helplessly, he watches his teammate apply the whorishly red lipstick that’s suspiciously the same shade as his pumps and hears himself say: “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

Bandit lifts one eyebrow. “Your cock’s going into my mouth any second now – if I were you, I’d be _very_ careful about what I’m saying.” And with that, he pushes Jäger down onto the wood, hooks one of his legs over his shoulder and unceremoniously starts sucking on the swollen head in front of him. It was like this the previous time as well, one second he’s vaguely threatening him, the next he’s sucking Jäger off so professionally there’s no doubt he’s had lots of practise. His motives remain highly unclear but if Jäger gets a tremendous blow job out of this, he’d rather die than complain.

Still in disbelief about pretty much everything, he watches cherry lips pull off to place wet kisses along his rock hard cock, a tongue darting out of them to tease the most sensitive spot right below the head, then they wrap around him again, slide down, enveloping him in silky heat that’s unbearable and shouldn’t _feel this good_. There are lipstick smudges on his shaft now and he realises he’s gone from helping Blitz with birthday preparations to Bandit sucking him off in less than half an hour. Then he notices Bandit is observing him, staring at him intently, probably cataloguing the fact that his cosplay has turned Jäger into putty in his hands. Maybe for later use. Jäger’s dick twitches in his mouth because the view is kind of hot and Bandit lifts an amused eyebrow, no doubt having noticed.

For a few blissful moments, Jäger thinks he can get away with this. He can chalk it up to the overall madness that’s taken hold of the base and besides, it’s not like anyone else is going to know. If Bandit wants to keep his dressing up a secret, he’d hardly brag about it having a certain _effect_ on Jäger – and he’s agreed to this favour without any conditions, so it’s all good, right? When he’s done (which will be embarrassingly soon, judging by the sinful sucking Bandit is showcasing right now), he’ll possibly staple Bandit’s outfit and leave. No harm done. No hard feelings. Nothing he needs to contemplate in the future, nuh uh.

And then he feels something between his legs. Not Bandit’s mouth, or rather not _only_ that since it’s impossible to overlook, but rather a finger suspiciously close to a place where it shouldn’t be, sliding over his skin, suspiciously slippery. Even without in-depth knowledge about what it was in which some men indulged in their spare time, he knows where this is going and for a split second, his mind provides him with the vague image of Bandit losing himself in him, of rough movements and shared pleasure and his teammate inadvertently uses that exact moment to push his digit inside. Jäger involuntarily bucks his hips to escape the sudden invasion, slides deeper into Bandit’s mouth in the process and marvels at the fact that he doesn’t even gag, he’s _that_ good.

“No way”, he chokes out and begins pawing at Bandit’s head, pulling on his hair in an attempt to get him to stop, “you’re not going to –” And his teammate merely gazes up at him, a smile narrowly visible in the corners of his lipstick smeared mouth, and adds another finger. This is – how _dare_ he just – it doesn’t hurt, not really, though it’s an uncomfortable stretch on top of a decidedly strange feeling and what even happened to buying him dinner first before Bandit shoves two of his fingers right – right up _there_ without even interrupting his sucking, his tongue a velvety pressure teasing the tip on each bob.

In one of his genius ideas, Jäger tries to deter Bandit from continuing this line of action by _pushing_ his head down, hoping to at least force him to pause, to cease his merciless ministrations that leave Jäger increasingly frantic, desperate and… okay, _turned on_. Only his plan backfires entirely when instead of halting, Bandit allows him even _deeper_ and oh _God_ is that the back of his throat that Jäger’s hitting now and those fingers are – what are they even doing, he can feel them moving and it’s a ridiculously vulnerable feeling, being invaded like this, being made to _open up_. He bucks his hips again, still holding on to Bandit’s hair and _now_ he’s gagging, only when Jäger does it again he’s prepared and lets him and _what the hell is this_.

Shoving aside all rational thought, Jäger resolves to lose himself in these irresistible sensations and worry about possible consequences later. A strangled moan escapes him when Bandit _swallows_ around him, his throat constricting in the most wonderful way around Jäger’s throbbing cock, the heat warming Jäger’s insides and his face. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the ungodly sight, helplessly watches the entire length of his shaft disappear between those bright red lips while he slowly but surely becomes accustomed to the feeling of being stretched, his ring of muscle yielding to Bandit. He even releases his grip because his teammate should breathe, only instead Bandit keeps going, blows him so thoroughly Jäger’s fingers twitch and his eyes unfocus and his back arches.

And he can’t, he just _can’t_ , because now Bandit is brushing over something he was unaware it existed, it’s raw and astounding and a sheer explosion of pleasure inside him and he’s still thrusting into this magnificent throat and his brain short-circuits. He climaxes with a muffled cry, as weak and pathetic as he feels in the face of greatness as this orgasm rips through him like a freight train. It bubbles up from deep inside and then tears his conscious mind, leaving him shuddering, gasping for air, whimpering, incapacitated; the relief is overpowering, he was obviously starving for release. Again he feels Bandit swallowing around him, but it’s just… now he’s drinking his _cum_ and that makes it so much _worse_.

While he rests his head on the mahogany, catching his breath and blinking blearily into the light on the ceiling without really seeing anything, he distantly feels Bandit pull off after licking him clean and withdrawing his fingers. Jäger complies exhaustedly when an insistent hand presses against him and spreads his legs further, thinking _this is it, here we go_. And waits. The hand stays, caresses his hipbone and glides over his thigh yet nothing else happens. Halfway down from his orgasmic high, Jäger lifts his head curiously and finds Bandit jerking off, hooded gaze fixed on him, his hand stroking fast and impatient. Before he can stop himself, he asks: “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

Bandit wavers for a heartbeat, disbelief bleeding into his rapt expression. With a short huff that indicates amusement, he steps closer, allows himself a small moan when Jäger instinctively hooks a leg around his. He looks as debauched as Jäger feels, his uniform now zipped open completely and revealing the black swirls and lines of his tattoos, half of his lipstick smeared around his mouth and the other half on Jäger’s cock, the lacy pants pushed down, his pumping hand desperate and his erection dark red. Jäger probably doesn’t offer a more appealing view, he’s half naked and his wet dick swollen, his wrists _still_ handcuffed together. “What, do you want me to?”, Bandit replies with another question, panting now and obviously close to his own climax.

And Jäger… well. He kinda _does_. The thought makes his stomach flutter in a weird way and, thinking back, the fingers weren’t actually _that_ bad. He could get used to the feeling, especially when Bandit keeps examining him like he’s the most desirable thing on which he ever laid his eyes. Yet he’s hesitant to speak his mind, saying out loud would make it _official_ and then he wouldn’t be able to back out anymore. So he bites his lip instead and refuses to respond – though something must’ve shown in his face, something that’s enough to push Bandit over the edge and make him come with a strangled _oh shit_.

The same moment that the first hot rope of his sperm hits Jäger’s abdomen, the door opens.

Jäger’s inner conflict distracted him enough to not register the footsteps coming their way and so, while Bandit stands there in his ruined nurse outfit, fishnet stockings and high heels and all, head tilted back, breathing a quiet _fuck_ and coming all over his teammate, Jäger locks eyes with Smoke who’s standing in the doorway and looking like… like someone in his position who just stumbled over this particular scene should look. His unbelieving, flabbergasted expression is entirely appropriate.

A part of Jäger wishes he could view the situation from outside, like an innocent bystander because he figures it’s perfectly hysterical. A significantly larger part _panics_.

“Well”, Smoke starts and clears his throat, “now I’ve seen everything.”

And Bandit, the absolute madman, turns to their unbidden visitor with the sweetest of smiles, his cock dripping, and says: “Happy birthday, mate.”


End file.
